


Narcissa Secretive

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Wednesday One-Shots [24]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Chamber of Secrets AU, Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-28 10:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11415702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: As Draco heads into his second year of school, Narcissa learns more about her husband’s allegiance to the Dark Lord—and what it might take to change that. Of course, it involves killing. But then, so does keeping Draco’s life smooth.





	1. Chapter 2.1

**Author's Note:**

> The next in the “Narcissa Militant” series; read the first fic before trying to read this one. This will have a second part, to be posted next week.

Narcissa felt the Dark magic around the book the instant Lucius brought it out of the library.

Of course, she didn’t let on that she had. She only watched the thin black object from the corner of her eye as they ate breakfast and Draco chattered away about the school supplies he and Harry were going to get in Diagon Alley that day. Lucius didn’t seem distracted, which meant this object wasn’t a source of anxiety.

Not newly-acquired. Not one he was dying to get rid of. Of course, with the chaos that had followed the Headmaster’s death in the spring, the Ministry _still_ hadn’t managed to get organized enough to conduct the frequent raids on Dark families that they’d been planning at the start of the year.

Which meant the object had been here. In the house. With her son.

“And I want to make sure that Harry gets a _Nimbus 2001_!” Draco declared.

Narcissa studied the look on Draco’s face, and smiled a little. That he wanted the broom for Harry and not himself was just another sign of how good Harry was for her son. “Of course,” she said smoothly. “And no doubt, Harry, you will put it to good use making sure the Slytherin Quidditch team cannot win this year?”

Harry blushed. “Well, I mean, I _am_ a Gryffindor, Mrs. Mal—”

“Narcissa. Or Mother, if you can manage it.”

Harry dropped his toast on his plate and stared at her. Narcissa smiled. “You didn’t insist on that before,” Harry noted cautiously.

“I am not insisting on it now. Only if you can manage it.”

Draco was scowling. Narcissa suspected she knew why. She would speak to him later. For the moment, a challenge would be good for him. She leaned forwards, across the table, and patted Harry's hand when he only spluttered. “You’ve lived with us all summer. Surely you don’t need to call me by my last name?”

“The last name you could _share_ , if you wanted to,” Draco muttered.

“Um—Narcissa,” said Harry. “I’m sorry, but calling someone else Mother is…”

“Of course,” Narcissa said softly. While she could not feel much sympathy for many of those dead in the first war—they would have survived if they’d been better fighters—she did honor Lily Potter, who had died fighting for her son in the only way that Narcissa could imagine doing. “My first name will do well.”

Both boys ran off soon after that, with Draco already telling Harry that they should get to the broom shop early before it filled up with eager customers. Lucius started to stand and picked up the book from the chair.

Narcissa’s throwing knife went between the splayed fingers of his hand and affixed the book to the upholstery. Lucius looked ill for a second. Narcissa knew it couldn’t be because she had barely missed him. He knew enough about her skill to know that if she had _meant_ to hit him, she would have.

“Narcissa! This belonged to _him_.”

“You were hiding it in my house. Without my permission. With Draco around.”

Lucius turned white. “Technically, Malfoy Manor is the home of _my_ ancestors, _”_ he started.

“Which you were on the verge of losing until my successful assassinations saved it.” Narcissa moved towards him with her hair and robes rippling behind her. “Lucius. What is that object?”

“A bo—” Perhaps Lucius could tell from the look in her eyes that it was better for him not to mouth off to her today. He swallowed weakly, and muttered, “I don’t know. Just that it’s important to _him_ , and he told me to keep it safe.”

“That is not all he told you, Lucius.”

“Nar—”

“I will not have sex with you ever again.”

Lucius snapped horrified eyes to her. Narcissa waited. She had looked into far more despairing faces than his. In the end, Lucius was the one to look away, swallowing nervously.

“He told me that it would return to Hogwarts, and make a student there open the Chamber of the Secrets,” he whispered. “The Heir of Slytherin. The school would finally be cleansed of Mud—”

Narcissa stared at him. He cut himself off. With Harry in the house, Narcissa had forbidden the speaking of that word.

And what Narcissa forbade _stayed_ forbidden.

“Give me the book,” Narcissa said, and extended her hand.

Lucius hesitated, because he was not alone in fearing the Dark Lord. But in the end, of course, he broke and handed it to her. He might fear both of them, but Narcissa was the one immediately in front of him.

*

“I don’t see how you can take _their_ side!”

“You’re both my friends, Draco! I’m just trying to keep anyone from being hurt!”

Narcissa stepped in between Harry and Draco with a faint sigh. She had avoided the crowd at the bookshop because crowds made her eager to get out of them. Besides, a promising contract had come up and she had needed to scout out her target from a distance. “Boys,” she said, and led them down a side alley where people were less likely to hear them arguing. “What did I tell you about dissenting in public?”

Harry hesitated and cast down his head, but Draco looked up at her and pointed an accusing finger. “He _said_ that he was my friend, too! He swore it! But then Father and Mr. Weasel started arguing, and Harry took _their_ side!”

 _I knew I shouldn’t have let Lucius go out without supervision._ “What were they arguing about?” Narcissa asked Harry gently, crouching down in front of him.

Harry swallowed and looked up at her. His eyes were green and large and utterly unclouded with guile. Narcissa had never needed Legilimency to read _his_ mind. “He made fun of the Weasleys for being poor. I—I was poor, too. I mean, I thought I was poor until I came to the wizarding world. I never had anything. How could I just stand there and not say something?”

Narcissa considered him carefully. Many thoughts raced and danced in her brain: the perfidy of Muggles, regret that the youngest Weasleys had got to Harry first, how she would have liked to resurrect Albus Dumbledore and kill him again. “You realize that you are not truly poor, Harry?”

“But I still didn’t have anything.”

“How? What?” Draco asked.

Draco didn’t know all the details of Harry’s childhood, and Narcissa didn’t consider this the right time for him to learn them. She gave Draco a mildly scolding glare and looked at Harry. “I promise, Harry, we are going to do all we can to heal you from this.”

“From fighting with the Weasleys, too?” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, a picture of anguish. “I just want to be friends with _everybody_. Ron sat with me when no one knew who I was. Hermione _lied_ for me when we defeated the troll. That was a huge deal. She doesn’t ever want to lie to professors! I can’t just abandon them, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Narcissa gave a little sigh and rested a hand on Harry’s forehead, over that scar that throbbed so strangely. “What did I tell you to call me, Harry?”

“Narcissa.” Harry didn’t look up from his shoes now.

“And that remains true,” Narcissa said soothingly, kneeling down next to him and stroking his hair. “You must remember, Harry. I do not know everything until you tell it to me. I don’t know what you’re feeling.”

“I’m—not used to telling people what I think.”

 _No, he would not be._ Narcissa should have anticipated that, truly. She only nodded as if it didn’t matter, and turned to Draco. “We will continue this discussion at home. _Home,_ Draco,” she added, when he opened his mouth.

“We got all the books we needed anyway,” Draco muttered in a sulky way. “I just hope it’s a rumor and not true that that git Lockhart won’t be teaching at Hogwarts.”

“Language, Draco.” But Narcissa drew her son to talk of what had happened in the bookshop on the way home, and thought long of it after they had reached Malfoy Manor and she had had a small talk with Harry in which she promised that no one would force him to give up his friends.

She spent time contemplating Harry, and time, too, contemplating the small black book that Lucius had given her.

*

_My name is Tom Riddle. Who are you?_

The elegantly penned words formed in the book on their own. Narcissa watched them, and nodded. She had been wise not to write in the book—the diary, it seemed it was—with her own hands. Instead, she had captured a Muggle, placed him under the Imperius, and directed him to write every word she said.

“My name is Melliflua Malfoy.” If her guesses about the spirit bound inside the book were true, then it would have no current knowledge of events, and therefore no way of knowing that Narcissa was using the name of Lucius’s great-grandmother rather than speaking in her own person. And since the Malfoys, like other pureblood lines, frequently repeated names in their family, any knowledge of the previous Melliflua could be easily excused. “Were you a Hogwarts student?”

_Yes. Are you?_

“Oh, yes! It’s so exciting to be here! And to have a book that talks back! But…wait. I have to ask. You’re not a _Mudblood_ , are you?”

The words this time took a little longer to appear. Narcissa wondered if that was because the book was starting to realize that it had “fallen” into the hands of someone who might be eager to continue the Dark Lord’s work. _No, of course not. I was a Slytherin, and as you well know, no one is accepted into our noble House without being able to claim purity of blood._

Narcissa had to admit that was cleverly worded. _Claim,_ indeed. She had sometimes wondered about the Dark Lord’s ancestry, but this was the first solid clue she’d had that it might not be impeccable.

“You’re right, of course, Tom. It’s just that I didn’t recognize your last name.”

_My father disagreed with his family, and changed his last name to spite them. He preferred to be the head of a new line rather than continue the one he felt had disgraced him._

“That’s all right, then, Tom. We can talk, right? I mean, you must know _lots_ about Hogwarts. The diary is so old! It seems that you lived a long time ago. So you can tell me all the secret passages and the best way to cheat on exams without being caught, can’t you?”

_That’s right, Melliflua. I can see that we will become great friends._

Narcissa laughed behind her hand.

*

_I do not understand why I do not feel your magic when I converse with you._

Narcissa leaned over to read the words in the diary, then smiled and went back to reading the letter from Draco. The content made her brow cloud as she read it, though. He was having trouble in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he blamed entirely on Gilderoy Lockhart giving them quizzes on books that were too boring to read.

Something would have to be done about Lockhart.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m undergoing training sessions every day, you see. That means I don’t have much magic left when it comes time to write to you. I’m just so exhausted all the time. I’ll try to do better, I promise!”

_What kind of special training sessions?_

“Oh, they’re with the Headmaster. Dumbledore. Everyone says that he’s barmy, but he is a great and powerful wizard, you know! And that means he has a lot to teach me. So he’s giving me those lessons every evening, and they’re mostly dueling and running around and defensive magic. Sometimes I wonder that I don’t fall asleep the minute I get back into bed!”

This time, Riddle’s response took a long moment to show up. Narcissa nodded. It seemed those rumors about Dumbledore being the one wizard the Dark Lord had ever feared were true.

_Why would the Headmaster need to give you special training sessions?_

“It’s because I defeated a Dark Lord when I was a baby. It’s the strangest thing. Everyone calls me the ‘Girl-Who-Lived’ because he tried to use the Killing Curse on me and it rebounded, somehow. It made his body disintegrate. But Dumbledore believes he’ll return someday, so I have to get ready for that day! He’ll want to kill me, of course.”

 _And what do_ you _believe, Melliflua?_ Riddle’s line under the fourth word almost went through the page. _Do you believe that the Dark Lord is dead?_

“No, I suppose I don’t. Sometimes I have strange prophetic dreams about me fighting him. And sometimes my scar hurts. But on the other hand, it’s hard to say exactly when he’ll come back, so I don’t know exactly when I’ll be prepared. For all I know, it could be tomorrow, and then I wouldn’t be _ready_! It’s so exhausting, sometimes.”

Riddle was quick with sympathy, and then he added, as if casually, _What was the name of this Dark Lord you defeated, Melliflua?_

“Lord Voldemort. That’s the right spelling, isn’t it? I don’t see it spelled often because everyone is so afraid of saying his name. Did you know him, Tom?”

_I did. Let me see what I can remember…_

Narcissa turned her attention from the diary as yet another owl came fluttering in, with yet another letter from Draco clutched in its claws. Narcissa frowned as she took it. It was unlike Draco to send a letter when she hadn’t had time to respond to his first one yet. For all he knew, circumstances could have changed and Narcissa would have found a way to defuse whatever problem he was writing about.

But this second letter began with, _Harry is ignoring me again._

Narcissa had the Muggle write a hasty farewell, as if someone was coming into “Melliflua’s” room to check on her, and rose. When that situation had happened last year, it had led to Harry nearly dying because he had gone up against the Dark Lord’s possessed host.

It was _not_ going to happen again. Harry was _not_ going to break her son’s heart.

*

“Well, I must say it’s a bit irregular, Mrs. Malfoy, but since you’re the boy’s guardian, of course you can see him in private.”

Narcissa smiled at McGonagall and inclined her head as Harry came through the office door. “Thank you, Headmistress.” She did find McGonagall easier to deal with in all things than Dumbledore. She thought it might be because McGonagall was a woman, and women were inherently more sensible.

More willing to recognize the value of assassin lessons and apply them, for example.

Harry looked up at her warily as he entered, and then frowned as he saw the way McGonagall was getting up to leave. “Headmistress?”

“Mrs. Malfoy came to check on you, Harry. She’s a bit worried by some of the letters your adopted brother—”

 _I must remember to clarify to Draco that I do_ not _think of them as brothers._

“—was sending home. So you can have a chat, and I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.” McGonagall squeezed Harry’s shoulder and smiled down at him, then stepped through the door and shut it behind her.

“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Narcissa sighed and knelt down in front of Harry. “Harry. What did I tell you?”

“That you’re Narcissa.”

“Then please, address me that way.” Narcissa squeezed his hands comfortingly and sat back up in the chair again. “Now, Draco says that you’ve been ignoring him. Can you tell me why?”

“I need—I did something stupid. It made some of my friends think that I’m Slytherin, or maybe Dark, or maybe evil. So they told me that I need to ignore Draco to prove that I’m not.” Harry folded his arms and nudged the leg of the second chair in front of the Headmistress’s desk with his trainer.

“Tell me what this mistake was.” Narcissa was beginning to wonder about the value of preserving Harry’s friends. If they interfered on such a regular basis with the bond between Harry and Draco…

“They found out I can talk to snakes. We were mock-dueling in the common room, and Seamus conjured a snake, and I thought I was just telling it to stop attacking me, but it turns out I was talking _Parseltongue_ to it. Only Dark wizards can speak Parseltongue. Like Salazar Slytherin.”

Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment. Her mind was full of stories she had read to Draco when he was a child, stories about the achievements of Salazar Slytherin and some Dark Lords throughout history. The only thing Draco had envied them for, besides their more powerful curses, was Parseltongue.

Narcissa had always mourned that she could not give him a hereditary gift. But a friend who could speak Parseltongue was the next best thing.

And Narcissa was _not_ going to have Gryffindors making Harry feel ashamed, or worthless, or shutting down his friendship with Draco over it.

“You shouldn’t feel that way,” she said quietly, opening her eyes. “Do you know why Salazar Slytherin was so famous for it?”

“Because he founded Slytherin, and their symbol is a snake?”

“No, Harry. Because it is a sign of _power._ Think how much magic it must take to communicate with snakes, which can normally never speak to humans. To reach across time and space and connect with another _mind._ Why would that ever be evil, Harry?”

Harry was quiet for a moment, his eyes turning inwards. Narcissa smoothed his shoulder. She was thinking what she should do about the situation. Gryffindors were easy enough to kill, but…

Children were not a challenge of her abilities. And their deaths would distress Harry, which would probably make him more likely to ignore Draco in his grief. Even the Headmaster’s death had led to a few days of Harry being quiet and withdrawn.

She would think of something else.

“So—you think it would be all right if I went back and told them I don’t feel evil? And if I talked to Draco again? I do miss him. I was just trying to prove that I was a real Gryffindor.”

“If anyone ever doubts you, only tell them about the foolish risks you took with your life last year. I assure you that you will qualify for Gryffindor House.”

Harry grinned at her as if that was a great compliment instead of deadly truth, and said, “Thanks, Mrs—I mean, Narcissa! And—” His chin firmed. “One thing the Sorting Hat talks about is how all the Houses belong together in Hogwarts. And Headmistress McGonagall said something about that at the Feast this year, too. So it could be seen as inter-House unity if I tried to spend time with my Slytherin friends. Right?”

Narcissa kissed his forehead. “I knew you would be clever enough to see the appeal. Go back and talk to them, Harry. I promise you will have their friendship again.” _If necessary, I can threaten them into it. That would be enough of a challenge for me, how to be threatening enough without simply making them terrified of Harry._

Harry gave her a quick dash of a hug, and bounced towards the door, looking much lighter than what he’d entered. Narcissa spoke before he could leave. “Draco said that Professor Lockhart is giving him a hard time in class, Harry. Is the same thing happening for you?”

Harry turned around and grimaced. “Well, it’s more that he tries to get photographs with me _outside_ class. And teases me about selling them. And talks to me like he thinks I _want_ to be famous. He told me that we would end up on the front page of the _Prophet_ together, but only because he was there. He’s annoying.”

Narcissa nodded slowly. “I see. Thank you for telling me, Harry. You realize that you can write to me as Draco does? We would be pleased to receive a letter from you.”

“Oh! Okay, yeah. I just never had anyone to write—before.”

Narcissa waved to him as he departed, and took the moment before McGonagall returned to sit back and think.

It was not enough to kill Lockhart. He had humiliated one of her boys.

For that, he would suffer before he died.


	2. Chapter 2.2

_I don’t think it’s very nice of you to leave me without talking to me for so long, Melliflua._

“I’m so sorry, Tom!” Narcissa had the Muggle dictate, while she settled back in her chair in the library and considered the best way to observe Lockhart. “I just had to listen to a big lecture today about how I’m not fulfilling my responsibilities, and so all my professors had me doing extra dueling lessons and copying lines. It was _awful_.”

_What duties do they think you’re neglecting?_

“Well, see, there are some people who think I’m going to save the world, and then there are the people who think I’ll save the world _and_ go on to be Minister for Magic afterwards. They just want me to do _everything._ ” Not that she could tell when she had the Muggle under the Imperius Curse, but Narcissa thought he might enjoy underlining the individual words. “So now I have to add politics, and foreign languages, and all this history of the Wizengamot to my studies. It’s _awful_.”

The diary wrote back at once, a soft sliding of words that Narcissa could almost imagine accompanying Parseltongue. _Do you think it would be less awful if I helped you?_

“Oh, but how could you help me, Tom? I like you a lot, but you’re just a book.”

Narcissa smiled as the book’s Dark aura, which she had cast a spell to see, changed and shifted like a flag blown by the wind. Yes, that would incense the Dark Lord. _I know a lot of ways to study, Melliflua. And I could show you ways to gain influence of your own, so that you could push back against the people who want you to do everything._

“Really? That would be great!”

_Yes. I can even show you where the legendary Chamber of Secrets is, so that you could gain prestige as the first one to discover it in fifty years._

Narcissa did have to tilt her head back and sigh a little. _This_ was the young version of the man her husband had followed for so long? She sincerely hoped that no child of _hers_ would fall for a manipulation that transparent.

“Oh, but I don’t know, Tom. I mean, there’s lots of people who would think I was evil if I found the Chamber! They would say I _have_ to be evil. And a hateful Slytherin.”

_Let them think what they will. The people who matter will know your value._

“Melliflua” went on holding back, and only let Tom “persuade” her right before she said that she had to go to class. But Riddle seemed content as Narcissa had the Muggle shut the book and march back to his rightful place in the cellars. The Malfoy Manor cellars were quite well-fitted to serve as dungeons, since they’d only been converted from that purpose into wine storage when Abraxas was alive.

Narcissa had devised a plan to her satisfaction. It would not only let her observe Lockhart and plan on how to make up for him humiliating her boys, but let her begin the intimidation tactics that would make Harry’s Gryffindor friends shut up.

*

Narcissa adjusted the form-fitting black robes and sighed a little. They would have to _do_. In truth, she hated pandering to expectations as much as this. She should be wearing unobtrusive grey robes slit a little up the side to allow her to move and kick and blend with shadows better.

But black was what the stereotypical assassin witch wore, so she would have to as well.

She slid rapidly down the rope that she had looped around one of the parapets of Gryffindor Tower. In seconds, she was hovering outside the windows that led into the second-year boys’ bedroom. She spent a moment making sure that her hair was still bound back in the knot that was utterly unlike any style she wore, but which also fit the stereotype she was trying to project. Her hair had been Charmed white and centered with a pair of knives.

When she was sure she was ready, Narcissa drew back one foot—clad in a thigh-high black boot—and kicked the window in.

There were yelps and screams of shock as she swirled through the glass and landed in a crouch between two beds. Weasley threw back the curtains on one, and a trembling boy Narcissa thought was Longbottom the other.

They stared at her with their mouths open. Meanwhile, Harry and two other boys, one sandy-haired, one dark-skinned, had tumbled out of their own beds. They stared at her, too.

“I have come to warn you,” said Narcissa, her voice low and biting. She held up the “ebony” wand she was using—like her hair, it was hers under a charm—and stalked slowly forwards, then whirled and almost stabbed her wand into Weasley’s throat. He squeaked. “Do you know who I was? _Do you_?” she hissed, long before Weasley could have got his breath back to answer.

Weasley stared at her and produced a very small sound that might have been “no.”

“I was a Slytherin who dared to have friends in other Houses,” Narcissa said to him. From the corner of her eye, she watched the other boys, but none of them was moving to stop her. She noted with satisfaction that the others were also too petrified to notice the gape of recognition on Harry’s face. “I had Gryffindors as friends. Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs. But the Gryffindors were the ones who _dared_ to insist that I prove I was their ‘real’ friend. And that meant performing pranks on my housemates, insulting the Hufflepuffs, and tricking the Ravenclaws into failing their exams.” Narcissa lowered her voice. “And do you know what happened _next_?”

Weasley squeaked.

“I was _cursed_!” Narcissa whirled away from him and drew the knives from her hair. Thank Merlin; they’d been nearly scratching at her scalp, even with the spell she’d performed to increase her hair thickness so that wouldn’t happen. She flourished the blades at the other boys, who tripped. Longbottom looked as if he was going to soil himself. “By the Ravenclaws that I’d shamed and the Slytherins I’d spurned. They put a curse on me to _always_ sneak around in the dark and stab people in the _back_.” She demonstrated with the knives on the edge of Weasley’s mattress.

Longbottom’s lip would probably never be the same again, the way he was chewing on it. Narcissa pulled back the knives and stared at them.

“But the worst part of the curse,” Narcissa whispered, never looking up from her knives and starting to sway back and forth a little as though a breeze was pushing her, “is not being able to have _friends_ anymore. I can never do that. I’m so _alone_.” She lifted her head and stared at all of them, her eyes desolate. “So I came to warn you. Don’t demand that any friends you have who associate with other Houses _prove_ themselves to you. Because some of those Slytherins and Ravenclaws who cursed me have children here now. They might use the same curse on _you_.”

She bent down and whispered, although making it sure that it was loud enough that all of them could hear, “My soul is like the winter wind. I’m always cold inside. Never warm. I can’t take any joy in anything except knifework. And that’s a fleeting joy, little ones. So fleeting.” She nodded at all of them, then stifled a sob in her throat, and jumped out the window.

By the time the first of them dared to peer over the jagged edges of broken glass, Narcissa had already pulled herself up to the stones above the window’s arch. And only Harry looked up.

His stare was full of blinding, worshipful awe.

Narcissa winked at him, and then swung silently away over the top of the castle to find a good vantage point on Lockhart’s rooms.

*

“Now, children, let me tell you about the time that _I_ discovered the recipe for a potion that sleeks down your hair and brightens your teeth all at once…”

Narcissa hung in a net of spidersilk and a Disillusionment Charm from the ceiling of Lockhart’s classroom, and shook her head a little. She thought she had heard enough. She had recognized more than one of Lockhart’s “achievements” as ones actually created or performed by other wizards, some of them her colleagues. In fact, one of her own kills had been in there, but since it hadn’t been one that she could come forwards to claim credit for, Lockhart had simply picked it up and woven it into the demonstrably false fabric of his own books.

And he seemed to thrive on the attention.

 _Well, he will have a new kind of attention to thrive on,_ Narcissa thought, and then swung in the net of spidersilk back to the top of the ceiling and carefully crawled hand-over-hand to the opening of the secret tunnel that she had discovered during her second year at Hogwarts. She could only access it hanging upside-down like this, and so she was sure, as she slid into it, that it would be empty.

It was, but she noticed something she never had before. There was a scrap of what looked like dry skin along the side of the tunnel. Narcissa picked it up and looked it over, eyes narrowing when she made out a faint pattern of scales on it.

_So. There was a snake that crawled through tunnels and pipes like this once._

Possibly the monster from the Chamber of Secrets, which must be a snake to be controlled by a Parselmouth. Narcissa thoughtfully tucked the scale away. Her mind was bubbling with plans to get revenge on Lockhart and neutralize the diary. She would let them bubble for a while. Lockhart was not going to get _more_ humiliating in the next day or so, and this plan would need time to form.

*

“ _Mother_.”

Narcissa sprinted away from the dinner table the minute she heard Draco’s distressed wail. Kneeling down in front of the fireplace, she saw how mussed his hair was and drew in her breath. “Darling, what happened?”

For a moment, she wondered if something might have gone wrong with her Gryffindor intimidation plot, and Harry’s friends had persuaded him to ignore Draco again. But Draco said, “I _don’t remember_ my detention with Lockhart! He said that I was going to help him answer his post from his fans, I remember that much, but—I should remember funny lines or the ink he had me use or _something_! But I don’t!”

Narcissa leaned slowly back. _So. Memory Charms were how he was able to claim credit from those who would have wanted it._ “Draco. Listen to me carefully. Do what you can not to get detention. I need three days.”

“Three days for what?” Draco mopped at his face with his sleeve, increasing her alarm. He _never_ forgot himself, or forgot the charm that would conjure a handkerchief.

“For me to set up the plan that will ensure we get revenge on him.”

Draco went silent and stared at her. Then he said, “You’re right. You always do take care of it.”

Narcissa smiled at him. “I always do. Now, stay away from Lockhart. Take a potion that will make you sick to your stomach if you have to, to be able to stay in the hospital wing and avoid his classes. But _do not let on to him that you know._ All right?”

“All right, Mum.” Draco started to wipe his face with his sleeve again, but then blushed and dropped his head. “Right. I’ll get a handkerchief as soon as possible.”

“Good. I love you.” Narcissa hesitated, then added, “Tell Harry to stay away from the man and his classes as well.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Good boy.” Narcissa backed away from the fire as it flared shut and walked back towards the dining table. She shouldn’t have waited. The man _could_ cause harm in two days. Of course, Draco couldn’t have had anything _too_ important taken from him—most likely he had discovered some embarrassing secret—but that didn’t matter. She was going to make him pay as much as possible.

“Is Draco all right?”

Sometimes Lucius could be a concerned parent, although he would never be as much so as she was. Narcissa nodded to him and sat down in front of her plate. “Yes. He’s had a bit of a shock. Use of a Memory Charm.”

“I should get—”

Narcissa turned her head and met his eyes. Lucius shrank back into the chair. “What would you do, Lucius?” Narcissa asked softly. “Start an investigation by the Board of Governors? That would take far too long, and you know it.”

Lucius looked down. “Too long for you.”

It wasn’t often that he showed even that much defiance. Narcissa leaned back and considered him for a while, and then said, “I feel in the need of some entertainment in bed tonight. You will provide it.”

Lucius looked as if he didn’t know whether to be glad or not, especially when Narcissa went to get the manacles.

*

“And the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in the girls’ bathroom on the second floor? _Really_ , Tom?”

_Yes. I doubt it was originally there, of course. Salazar Slytherin probably had it concealed somewhere that was remodeled._

“Yes, you’re right. Oh, you’re so clever, Tom! I can’t wait to go there and open it and see the Chamber!”

Narcissa silently directed the Muggle to step back from the diary. Then she glanced at the potion she was brewing, and nodded. The green, acidic color it had turned showed it had reached the proper stage.

She knew that no regular method could likely destroy the diary, so she hadn’t tried. It would only infuriate Riddle and ruin the guise of her “Melliflua Malfoy” persona. But she _was_ willing to bet that the contents could be transformed. This powerful potion would work a Transfiguration on any physical object for at least an hour. And she could easily Apparate to Hogwarts and make it to Gilderoy Lockhart’s private quarters in an hour.

_Melliflua?_

Narcissa had the Muggle pick up Riddle’s diary and drop it daintily into the potion.

The diary at once began to thrash, and a loud hissing, rather like a snake’s, emanated from the cauldron. Narcissa arched an eyebrow. Well, now she was glad that she had taken as many precautions as she had.

But it was for naught. The potion bubbled some more, steamed some more, and then yielded up its contents. The diary had been forcibly transformed into a bowl of raspberry ice cream.

Narcissa delicately tipped the contents of the second brewing cauldron into the ice cream—the potion that would act like a liquid version of the Imperius Curse—and slipped out and to the Apparition point.

*

Under the glamor of an innocent young witch, Narcissa knocked on Lockhart’s door. He opened it and beamed at her. Narcissa lowered her eyes shyly and held out the bowl of ice cream.

“I can’t stay long, sir,” she whispered. “My name is Nari Fortescue, and—I just wanted to give you this ice cream. I made it myself. It’s the first ice cream that my grandfather’s let me make. I—I’m such a _huge_ fan of your work.”

“My dear, my dear, no need to stand talking in the corridor! Come in, come in.”

“No, please, I can’t.” Narcissa worked her way backwards, trembling. “Oh, Grandfather would be so angry if he knew! Just—please eat it, sir, and think of me.” She bolted around the corner, and cast the charm that would float a mirror up to her eye and allow her to look back around the corner and see what happened next.

Lockhart stood blinking at the ice cream in his hands for a few seconds, then smiled indulgently. Narcissa thought she heard him mutter something about “young love” before he dipped the spoon Narcissa had provided into the dish and lifted it to his mouth.

_Yes, eat it all._

But Lockhart needed no urging. Once he had eaten the first mouthful, the liquid Imperius potion had a chance to work, and he began to swallow more and more, compelled to finish it until it was gone. Then he turned the bowl upside-down and licked it.

Narcissa cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and gave the mental command; the potion he’d drunk was linked to her as the brewer. _Walk directly to the Great Hall._ She had timed her visit well, and dinner was still going on, although Lockhart had left early.

Lockhart turned and hurried. His face was oddly smooth and peaceful, although now and then Narcissa saw a dark flicker behind his eyes. The diary was probably attempting to transform back into itself and fight its way out, or at least assert control of Lockhart.

Unfortunately for the diary, it was still raspberry ice cream, and would be for at least forty more minutes.

Narcissa had Lockhart fling open the doors of the Great Hall dramatically, because he _would_ , and the less out-of-character he seemed before his untimely death, the less likely someone else would determine what was going on. “I have an _announcement_ to make!” he caroled out to the students and professors still at the tables.

Narcissa saw Draco staring directly at the professor, his hands cupped protectively over a letter he’d been writing on the table. From his seat on the Gryffindor benches, Harry was also gaping, but he immediately looked over Lockhart’s shoulder, as if searching for her.

Narcissa arched an eyebrow. _Isn’t that interesting._

“I _made up_ most of what I put in my books!” Lockhart announced, and shed his robes. At the same time, he held up the long shirt he wore underneath, so everyone could see that his pants were embroidered with his own grinning face, including a particularly large grin right in the middle of his groin. “I didn’t really do all those things! The parts I didn’t make up, I stole from other people. With Memory Charms. I made them forget what they really did, and I took the credit.” He nodded seriously. “I feel _just terrible_ about it, and I wanted to confess before I lost my courage.”

He didn’t seem to notice the weeping of a small group of Gryffindor girls. He dropped his shirt back down over his pants and stood up. “Now I’m going to make up for it! I know where the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets is, and I’m going to face and battle the monster inside. Don’t try to dissuade me! I know how terrible my crimes are, and this is the only way I can satisfy my guilty conscience.” He sobbed and pressed his hand over his heart. “If I don’t make it, then remember me for my smile. At least that was my own.”

He turned, the last of Narcissa’s mentally-dictated words fading from his mouth and mind, and strode towards the second-floor girls’ bathroom. For a moment, everyone in the Great Hall seemed frozen. Then a babble of voices and laughter started. Well, and sobs from the girls.

“ _Children_!” Headmistress McGonagall stood up, Severus beside her, and cast charms that stretched glittering barriers across the doors of the Great Hall. “No, you will _not_ be following Professor Lockhart. If he is actually going to open the Chamber of Secrets, it will be extremely dangerous.” McGonagall’s face was pale. Narcissa smiled. She’d known she could count on the woman to react that way. “You will stay here, and a few of the professors and myself will accompany—Professor Lockhart—” Her voice faltered on the title.

 _Oh, no, that won’t do at all._ Narcissa turned and sprinted after Lockhart.

She found him kneeling on the floor in the girls’ bathroom. A ghost was peering fretfully out of the toilet while he struggled with himself, sometimes hissing.

Narcissa strengthened the pull of her will and her command. All she had to do was think of Draco and Harry, and she was more than strong enough to overcome Lockhart’s mental flailing. _Open the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Draw your wand and blast the sink with the snake open if you have to._

As she had predicted, because he had the diary’s memories inside him, Lockhart knew which tap would open the Chamber even if the diary wouldn’t lend him the Parseltongue to open it. He surged to his feet and whipped out his wand. A few well-placed Blasting Curses, and there was a dark, gaping passage where a sink had been. Lockhart ran forwards and jumped into it.

Narcissa rappelled down, with rather more grace. She nodded to the bones and scraps of skin that she had to pick her way past as she walked to the Chamber. This wasn’t the nastiest graveyard she had ever walked. In fact, it looked as if the basilisk probably did professional work.

Lockhart was raging outside the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, sometimes beating the door with his fists and sometimes beating his own head. Narcissa eyed him and shook her head. He was considerably less impressive than the emerald-eyed snakes on the door of the Chamber, Narcissa thought.

Now came the trickiest part, because she had to exert her will over the diary as well as Lockhart. _Hiss the words to open the Chamber. Go in and shut the door behind you. Hiss the words to open the Chamber. Go in and shut the door behind you…_

It probably helped that, at the moment, Tom Riddle was partially dissolved in stomach juices. Lockhart flung his head back and uttered a long hiss. The doors to the Chamber shuddered and slid aside, the green jewels in the eyes of the serpents flaring. Lockhart stumbled inside and turned and said something else. The doors slammed shut.

Narcissa lingered a few moments only. She would have to leave when the professors showed up, she knew, but she rather hoped—

There was a choked-off scream a moment later, and a loud, indignant hissing, too loud to come from a human throat.

Narcissa smiled and turned away, content. Her boys were avenged, Lockhart’s humiliation would be remembered and his posthumous reputation ruined, and the diary was either trapped in the Chamber forever or, quite possibly, a pile of poisoned half-digested ice cream in Lockhart’s stomach, soon to be a poisoned pile of giant serpent waste. Basilisk venom might have almost any effect on it.

She did remind herself to tell Harry not to come down here. He was a Parselmouth, and might think it a grand adventure. Narcissa would have to explain that it was only a grand adventure until he thought about having to stay in his room all summer.

*

“I want to know how you do it.”

Narcissa set aside the _Prophet_ she’d been lingering over for the headline—yet another revelation of a Lockhart book written under false pretenses—and gave Harry her full attention. They were the only two in the dining room, since Draco hadn’t yet come down and Lucius was spending some quality time with the manacles. “What do you mean, Harry?”

“You keep _making things happen_.” Harry stared at her over his last spoonful of porridge. Narcissa arched her eyebrow, and he ate it, then continued, “I want to know how.”

Narcissa considered him thoughtfully. She had dreamed before of finding a protégé to follow in her footsteps, but had assumed it would come about when Draco was grown. If _he_ wanted to learn the discipline, he could, but so far Draco hadn’t shown any interest.

Now here was Harry, who hadn’t known there was discipline to learn.

“Very well,” Narcissa said. “I can give you some preliminary lessons. But that’s not the same as being able to do what I do. _I’ve_ had years of training.”

“That’s okay. I just want to make a difference. I want to—to make sure that no one else can ever control me again. The _Prophet_ was writing some stories about me and Lockhart and how much I must have wanted attention when he was making me pose in photos with him. And my friends were trying to make me choose between them and Draco. I don’t want that to ever happen again.”

Harry’s eyes were so bright with determination. Narcissa felt her eyebrows creeping up her forehead even as she smiled. “I look forward to teaching you, Harry.”

**The End.**


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